


tak ji opatruj svými činy

by armethaumaturgy



Series: Left Hand AU [8]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Cross (X-tale) - Freeform, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Dub-con, Killer (Killertale) - Freeform, Killer/Cross - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Vaginal Fingering, bg crossdust, i guess?, its weird. this one, kross - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 09:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: "Boss called," Killer said. His hands were still whittling at the piece of wood, which was starting to become suspiciously similar to a bird with each little cut. "Said Dust's been feeling weird lately. What've you two been doing?"Cross' flinch was as good as an admission of guilt.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Left Hand AU [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181261
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	tak ji opatruj svými činy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jasmynation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmynation/gifts).



> written for @AcesSpicyCorner on twitter, who wanted to see kross being a bit softer in the LH AU!
> 
> set immediately after [jen potom všechny šrámy léčí](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29947332)

Food felt like the last thing on his mind, but Cross knew Horror would get mad if he learned that Cross hadn't eaten all day.

Well, madder than he already was.

Tentatively, he peeked into the kitchen, but the big guy was nowhere to be found. He hadn't spoken a word of the... fiasco, either. Just like with Dust, Cross half expected him to try and lodge his axe into whatever part of his body would be in range, but he hadn't. He rubbed at his eyesocket, feeling a headache coming on as he made his way to the fridge.

It was always stocked, but when Cross looked at all the food, his appetite just reminded him that it was non-existent right now. Still, he grabbed a carton of milk, planning to maybe shove a bit of cereal into himself, even if it most definitely wasn't morning anymore. He closed the fridge door, and all but jerked backwards.

Killer stood where the fridge door had covered him, leaned against the side of the appliance and carving something into a small block of wood with absent flicks of his wrist. Cross glanced down, but the cuts were precise and practiced, and even if he was staring at Cross and not his handiwork, at least Cross had the bit of inner peace at the fact that he wouldn't stab himself and bleed out in the stars damned kitchen, of all places.

"Fucking stars," Cross mumbled, only causing Killer's grin to quirk up on one side. He always looked like everything was a game to him, like he thought of Cross as an interesting part of it.

It made his bones crawl.

Killer, completely ignoring his startled words, just regarded him with his blank sockets. "Boss called," he said. His hands were still whittling at the piece of wood, which was starting to become suspiciously similar to a bird with each little cut. "Said Dust's been feeling  _ weird  _ lately. What've you two been doing?"

Cross' flinch was as good as an admission of guilt. 

Still, Killer's expression didn't change, his eternal grin not betraying a hint at his thoughts. He studied Cross for a moment. Eventually, his hands stopped whittling at the wood and he tossed the carving onto the counter, where it balanced precariously before stabilizing on its rounded base. It was a pretty little bird, with its wings spread apart for balance. Cross wasn’t above admitting that.

“Cat got your tongue,  _ commander?”  _ Killer asked, an edge to his voice as he all but spat the title out. He moved, until he had Cross pinned against the fridge. He was still holding the carving knife, but Cross tried not to think what kind of damage it could do to bone. “How ‘bout you show me, then?”

Killer didn’t need to be any clearer in his intentions, but he rubbed a hand over the front of Cross’ shorts anyway, agitating the magic that he’d only recently got back under control.

Cross gripped his wrist.

“You sure?” he asked, “You… saw what we do.”

Killer rose a browbone. “No, not really. Didn’t fancy a blaster to the face, so I stayed away.”

“Good policy,” Cross muttered back.

He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that there was more to the remark, because when was there  _ not _ more when it came to Killer? But he didn’t know what it was, so he just filed it away to ponder over later (as he did with many of Killer’s remarks).

“Alright,” he conceded, splaying a hand onto Killer’s chest, under his SOUL. “My room, or yours?”

“What, don’t want others seeing you fuck  _ me? _ I’m hurt.” Killer faked a pout, devolving into chuckles at Cross’ glare.

“You want to do this here, be my guest. I’ll just tell Horror it was your idea to make a mess of the kitchen.”

“My room,” Killer said, and Cross had to force down a smirk at the quick change of attitude. He kept a grip on the other and shortcut them straight into the room.

His sockets shone brighter as they adjusted to the dim space, but Killer flicked the lightswitch on. Cross had never been in his room, but he tried to keep his glance over quick and cursory. 

There was a wall-mounted case of knives, each of them on their own little stand. More knives and tools littered the desk, alongside half-finished wooden carvings that already looked miles more detailed than the small bird had been.

Judging by the look Killer gave him — knowing and smug — he noticed.

“Alright, you can’t move or touch,” Cross told him, kicking the rumpled blanket off to the side and climbing onto the bed.

Killer followed, his grin tugging up on one side. “Pretend I’m Dusty. I ain’t doin’ anything.”

Cross’ browbones furrowed at the nickname, as well as the mere idea, though he did pull Killer into his lap. He wasn’t sure how he could pretend Killer was Dust when they were obviously so different, but he didn’t let it stop him from pushing Killer’s shorts down.

“Summon your body,” he said, breath fanning over the back of his neck. Already different without the hood in the way.

Killer’s hands came down to grip Cross’ femurs, claws digging into the bones even through his shorts. He twitched in the hold, near headbutting Cross in the nasal bridge. “Make me, soldier boy,” he hissed.

Cross growled, holding him tighter. “What are you doing?”

Killer craned his head to the side, his expression unreadable. “Pretending I’m Dust, duh. What’d you think?”

“Dust doesn’t fucking fight, settle down and stop playing.”

Killer threw him another weird look, and just for a second, he could’ve sworn there was an eyelight in the depths of his leaking sockets.

“ _All right,”_ Killer said, drawing the words out, and if Cross had ever heard sarcasm, this was three tiers above it. “So what  _ does _ Dust do?”

He summoned a body, a muddled shade of red that seemed brighter in some spots, and Cross caught sight of the two little scars he’d left on his sternum last time, obviously healed to leave the marks behind on purpose. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, so he did his best to act like he hadn’t seen them.

“Just lay back on me and let me take care of you,” Cross said, wrapping his phalanges around Killer’s cock.

“So what, you just jack him off?” Killer asked, hips angling into the loose circle of Cross’ hand as it pumped him. “And he just— fuck, just like that— he just…  _ takes _ it?”

Cross flicked his wrist, other hand coming down to rub between the folds of Killer’s cunt, smearing the slick around. “I mean, yeah?”

Killer’s laugh sounded incredulous just as much as breathless. His hips met Cross’ wrist when he finally pushed a pair of fingers into the entrance, the ecto squelching around them. He sighed.

“You’re goin’ too slow,” he muttered, still gripping Cross’ legs. If he didn’t, he’d probably start jerking himself instead.

“And  _ you’re  _ making it hard to pretend you’re Dust. You know, like you wanted? Why can’t you just settle down and stop rushing it?”

“I mean,  _ I  _ don’t care,” Killer told him. He moaned as Cross curled his fingers in him. “But does Dust get off on this?”

Cross pushed his fingers in further, a little more forcefully than he’d wanted to. Was Killer trying to get on his nerves? Because he was succeeding. “Yeah, he does,” he hissed, “Moans for me like it’s the best thing in the multiverse.”

Killer was stuck between arching into his fingers and bucking up into his fist, the paces wildly different. His breathing was labored, and Cross knew he was getting to him, too. It was as heady of a feeling as ever.

Killer would’ve scoffed at the idea of Dust laying placid and moaning his SOUL out from just this, even if he had to admit Cross was surprisingly good with his fingers. He stayed silent, for a beat, and then let out the filthiest moan he could muster up.

Cross’ breath hitched, he could feel it on the back of his neck, and his grip got just a bit tighter. There was magic pooling in his pelvis, but he hadn’t manifested his own body yet, despite how heated he felt even through the barrier of clothes between them. Just for good measure, Killer decided to grind back into his pelvis, at least once, just to hear that sound again.

“Fuck, Crossy,” he mumbled, letting his head fall back against the soldier’s shoulder. He was getting close, walls clenching down on Cross’ fingers as he kept crooking them inside, in just the right spots with each thrust of his wrist.

“Stars, you sound pretty,” Cross told him, teeth skirting along his neck. Killer tensed in preparation of a bite, ready for it to push him over the edge, but Cross just pressed a line of kisses along the vertebrae, butterfly soft.

Killer whined — though he would refute the sound ever left him — and instead forced his hips up into Cross’ hand. “Fuck,” he groaned, nerves singed as Cross twisted his wrist around his cock.

Cross leaned over him, pressing their teeth together. It was messy, and Killer’s neck hurt from the angle, but he let himself get lost in the feeling of Cross’ tongue meshing with his.

Another finger teased at his entrance, slipping inside with the other ones and stretching him with just the right edge of a burn.

Just a couple more thrusts, just a little more…

Their breaths fanned over each other’s faces, Killer’s little gasps filling the space between them. He clenched down on Cross’ fingers, pseudo-muscles spasming. Every time they hit the deepest parts of him, a jolt of pleasure ran up his spine.

He was so fucking close. He was sure he’d never been on the precipice this long before, and it was maddening.

“C’mon, Crossy,” he muttered, voice soft and choked as he tried to get Cross to speed up, or tighten his grip again, or  _ anything. _

“You can come whenever you like,” Cross told him, huffing out a laugh, and really, that shouldn’t have been enough to push him over the edge alone, but it  _ did. _

He came with a choked groan as Cross thumbed at his slit and pushed his fingers as far as they’d go, ribbons of red coating Cross’ hands and the rumpled sheets.

Cross pumped him through it, only pulling away when Killer’s magic crackled from too much stimulation.

“You good?” he asked, rubbing along his thighs. All it did was smear all the slick along the still-summoned ecto and make him shudder.

“Fuckin’ peachy,” Killer ground out, gasping for breath and head feeling light for a few moments. It became apparent Cross wasn’t going to do anything else, so as weird as Killer found it, he just pulled his shorts back up when his magic dissipated. “Not sure how that’d ever get Dust off, but thanks for the demonstration.  _ I  _ sure as fuck liked it. Night’s gonna be pleased.”

He stood and stretched his legs, a restless edge settling over him. His fingers itched to dig his knife into something. He couldn’t imagine how Dust would’ve felt after something like this. 

Cross’ skull was flushed, and the glow in his pants was obvious, but he just looked away, expression tight. “Yeah. Anytime. Might wanna actually take a look next time if you don’t fucking believe me,” he huffed.

“Still don’t fancy a blaster to the face, but thanks.”

Cross mumbled something into the side of his hoodie, and Killer watched him teleport away with a raised browbone, and only after he was alone did he sigh.

“I sure hope y’can puzzle this one out, Night,” he mumbled to himself as he grabbed his carving knife from the table and dug it into another wooden block. It wasn’t quite the same, without the sight of marrow-red to accompany it, but it would have to do. Distraction in hand, he headed out of his room, down to Nightmare’s study.

Because he was, frankly, confused as fuck.

Whatever Cross said of Dust sounded nothing like the Dust  _ he _ knew.

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is @esqers ♥


End file.
